


Sour and Sweet

by Cafelatte100, LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apple Tarts, Backstory, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Historical, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Memories, Platonic Pining, temporary character discorperation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cafelatte100/pseuds/Cafelatte100, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: It was Crowley who first gave Aziraphale an apple tart. Now he eats them every year while he waits to see his friend again. Friendship feels, hurt/comfort, (Gen)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 153
Collections: Favorite GO Fics





	Sour and Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cafelatte100](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cafelatte100/gifts).



> A gift fic for Cafelatte100 from John. Hope you both enjoy this ^_^

It was a beautiful day, and really, most of them were this time of year, especially in this part of the French countryside. Aziraphale breathed deeply as he strolled along the dirt road, watching the farmers in the field pull in the harvest. It was the season for apples, bright, crisp, and delicious. Aziraphale loved apples almost as much as he loved pears, and France had copious amounts of both. He watched now as the farmers climbed up into the trees in the orchard, picking the fruit and tossing it to those waiting below. The whole picture was beautiful, so much more serene than some of the ones he had come across in past years.

Aziraphale continued on his way toward the nearest village, and pulled his coat a little tighter against the crisp autumn breeze that was getting cooler by the day, reminding that winter would soon be upon them. He spotted an inn and tavern up ahead and headed for the entrance, stepping into the warm establishment and taking in the homey atmosphere and the delicious smells.

He crossed to a seat near the front and sat down, smiling as a plump, motherly woman, likely the proprietor's wife, came over almost instantly to see what he needed.

"What can I get you, love?" she asked him.

"Oh, why, I would love for some apple tart, and apple cider too, if you have it," he told her.

"Of course, it's the best time of year for apples, and so we're bound to have everything apple for the next few months."

Aziraphale smiled. "Well, I can't say that I will be complaining about that."

She bustled back to the bar and began to fetch his order while Aziraphale waited, listening to the quiet music two young men were playing in one corner.

And then the woman brought back a plate and a large tankard of apple cider, setting them down in front of him.

"There you go, anything else?" she asked.

"No, this looks, fantastic," he said.

She cocked her head. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Oh, no. Just passing through. I'm…meeting a friend. Hopefully."

She smiled. "Well, if you need a place to stay tonight, just let me know; we still have a few rooms to rent."

Aziraphale thanked her and then turned back to the treat in front of him, inhaling deeply. The tart smell of the apples mixing with the warm cinnamon and spices and the buttery pastry was divine. He picked up a fork and took a bite.

The instant the flavor crossed his tongue, it brought so many memories crashing down, that it was almost hard to swallow, bringing him back to the first time he had ever had apple tart…

~~~~~~~

" _Try it, angel, come on."_

Aziraphale eyed the demon who had plunked himself down, completely uninvited he might add, across the table from him in the bustling midday tavern he had just happened to stumble across in France. He'd first encountered Crowley there earlier, in the vicinity he'd been stationed, and he had been trying to evade the demon all this time, to no avail.

"I don't think I should," Aziraphale told him firmly, sitting up straight, though the smell alone was making his mouth water. "Not a good idea to be taking things, especially apples, from demons— _you_ in particular."

Crowley huffed, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm not tempting you, angel, I want you to try it because it's delicious and I know you'll like it. You're the one always talking about food, I'm shocked you haven't had any yet. The apples are kind of famous around these parts."

"And how do I know you haven't poisoned it or something?" Aziraphale demanded huffily. The demon had been bothering him a lot lately, every time they had chanced to meet, to make an 'arrangement' with him, whatever _that_ was supposed to mean. Aziraphale had refused, though it hadn't stopped Crowley's insistence, and so he was wary of the demon trying foul play.

Crowley glowered at him from behind his tinted spectacles, looking genuinely offended. "You really think I'd poison… _anyone_? Let alone _you?_ " he demanded.

"No," Aziraphale admitted, eyeing the tart with a little more interest. It did look scrumptious…

But still, taking anything from a demon, allowing himself to be tempted so…

"At least let me buy you an apple cider," Crowley wheedled. "It's spiced just right, and it's nice and cool. You'd think it would be too much apple to eat them together, but it's not."

Aziraphale finally sighed and reached across the table, carefully pulling the plate of tart over to himself. "If I try this, will you leave me in peace?" he asked testily.

Crowley leaned forward, arms on the table. "Well, I'llstop bothering you to eat it at least. Seriously, angel, I know you'll like it."

Aziraphale took up the fork and carved himself a bite, which he took dubiously. After all, he was quite the gourmand, and there were few things that he hadn't tried that were worth trying.

And yet when he experienced the soft, spiced apples, the buttery crust, the sweet and tart flavors mixing on his palate at the same time…

"Oh my," Aziraphale said in surprise, and took another bite, this time with the expectation of the delicious flavor, closing his eyes to properly savor it.

"I told you it was good," Crowley said smugly and pushed a tankard across the table to him. "Now, have some of the cider."

Aziraphale accepted the tankard and took a deep drink of the spiced apple cider, surprised at its tartness as the cool sensation washed down his throat, indeed complimenting the tart to perfection.

"This is…amazing," he breathed, actually surprised.

Crowley grinned. "Told you!"

Aziraphale wasn't even annoyed that the demon had been right, he simply continued to enjoy the tart, while Crowley ordered himself another tankard of the cider, and they sat just like two companions, not two supernatural beings on opposite sides of things. This had been happening more and more lately when they chanced to meet.

It would probably become a problem someday.

But that night, Aziraphale was happy enough for the casual conversation he was having with Crowley, complaining about their posting, and chatting about other things. And of course, the conversation naturally came back around to Crowley's plan for an 'arrangement'.

"I just don't understand what your problem with it is," Crowley huffed.

"It just wouldn't work, Crowley," Aziraphale protested. "What if our home offices found out, we would likely be executed for treason!"

"But no one ever has to know, that's the point! We'll be careful, and it's not like we'd really be betraying either of our home offices, just…making things easier for both of us."

"You know they wouldn't see it like that." Aziraphale hissed. "No, I simply couldn't. I'm sorry." He stood, gathering his cloak and turning to the demon. "Thank you for the tart, Crowley, but, I really can't agree to this. I need to be going."

"Angel…" Crowley tried, but Aziraphale was already pushing through the crowded tavern and making his way back to his lodgings, hoping he wouldn't see the demon again for the rest of his posting here.

It turned out that wasn't to be the case.

It was war—after all, it was the height of the medieval era, and there was always someone fighting somewhere or other. Aziraphale had long ago lost track really as to 'who', and 'why', just mostly paid attention to the 'where' he was sent and 'what' he was told to do by his superiors.

But it just usually figured that whatever Heaven had a hand in, Hell wasn't far behind, which is why Aziraphale hadn't been surprised to see Crowley at the tavern a few nights before, and he wasn't entirely surprised to see him now in the battle camp—though he was a bit annoyed that the wily serpent always seemed to show up just when he was trying to get business done—whatever the business might be.

"Fancy seeing you again, angel," Crowley said with a smirk as if he had planned just this. He was dressed in light foot soldier's armor, probably to better blend in, and Aziraphale was a bit envious considering his knightly gear weighed quite a lot.

Aziraphale turned to him with a longsuffering look. "And just what are you doing here?" he demanded, looking around as if it were possible other angels might be watching, even though he was firmly certain that he was alone here. As usual.

"On missions for Hell—the usual," Crowley said. "Top secret. What are you doing here?"

"As if I would tell you," Aziraphale said tartly, though, truthfully, he didn't rightly know. He was just told to 'observe'. He had begun to think that perhaps Gabriel sent him on these observatory trips more for the sake of simply getting rid of him than any real urgent need for him to report back. They certainly seemed to care little enough about the detailed reports he put a lot of work into when he handed them in. If he was the kind to make bets, he would bet that Crowley didn't know much more about his own mission than Aziraphale did his.

Crowley made a face at him, but shrugged it off. "See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Think about it, angel. We're always ending up in the same place anyway. If we have an… _arrangement_ then only one of us at a time would show up in a place, do both missions, write the report, and then we could take turns having a little time off, or getting more things done quicker. That would be sure to get us both marks at the home offices, eh?"

Aziraphale glowered at him. "You mean to say that I would do your…demonic deeds…as well?"

Crowley gave him an offended look. "Don't be so stuck up about it, I'd have to do your goody-two-shoes angel deeds too."

"But I simply can't!" Aziraphale huffed.

"And when was the last time you had a vacation?" Crowley wheedled, an enticing hiss in his voice. "If you'd agreed to this arrangement the last time I suggested it, you could be on the Riviera by now instead of here. I would have taken this job for both of us."

Aziraphale refused to be baited.

"Would it really be so bad?" Crowley demanded. "You doing the bad thing, me doing the good thing?"

Aziraphale huffed. "Please just…I'm done discussing this!"

Thankfully, they were interrupted by the arrival of a boy, also dressed in the garb of a foot soldier, who was running up, panting.

"Crowley! The enemy has been sighted! They're calling out the men!"

Crowley blessed under his breath and glanced across the camp which was suddenly bustling to life. He turned back to the boy who was hopping eagerly from one foot to the other. The demon took his shoulder, bending to talk to him as Aziraphale watched with mild interest.

"Thanks, Henri, but you really should stay in the camp."

The boy shook his hand off his shoulder, glowering. "No! I'm fighting! I can fight!"

"Henri, please, you're just going to get yourself killed," Crowley hissed.

But the boy ignored him and pulled away, running off to join the other soldiers gathering toward the field of battle.

Crowley clenched his hands into fists at his sides, then cast a glance at Aziraphale who was watching his reaction with curiosity.

"He's not even sixteen," Crowley said quietly. "He shouldn't even be here but…" He shook his head. "He's too overeager. I'm afraid he's going to get himself killed. He already lost his father, which is why he's here. He thinks he's honoring him but…"

Aziraphale glanced to where the boy had disappeared amongst the rest of the army, and felt a brief anxiety enter his heart at the thought, but was more surprised that Crowley cared at all.

The demon looked sheepish as he turned to the angel again. "I thought perhaps that…you might be able to convince him to leave. Maybe join a monastery or something. Even if you're against an arrangement, you can't be against that."

Aziraphale sighed. "I'll talk to him, but it might be a little late now. The battle looks like it's already starting."

Crowley got an almost stricken look on his face, and his eyes darted around, obviously searching for the boy.

"And perhaps we should go along as well," Aziraphale added. "After all, I am a knight, and I should not be seen loitering when there is a battle to be fought. And your young friend might have need of us."

Crowley rolled his eyes slightly, but hurried to join the rest of the footmen as a squire brought Aziraphale's horse over.

Aziraphale hated battle, but there wasn't much to be done about it. Heaven was convinced that all angels should be warriors, and even though he wasn't too bad with a sword himself—when he could keep one on his person—he was much more of a scholar.

He'd lost sight of Crowley by now, but was more worried about the demon's charge at the moment. Where was young Henri then?

And finally, he spotted him foolishly placed at the front of the ranks, directly facing the charging enemy. Aziraphale urged his horse forward, but the ranks of men made it hard to move swiftly, even for a knight, even for an angel.

And then he saw the horseman galloping in a straight trajectory toward the boy, spear raised. Aziraphale gave a small cry, raising his hand to change the direction of the spear, but it was already in the air.

And then Crowley came from out of nowhere, leaping in front of the boy the instant before the spear struck.

It still struck, just not it's intended target. Aziraphale watched in horror as the spear slammed into Crowley's side and sent the demon tumbling across the ground to lay in a worryingly still heap in the mud.

Henri's cry was heard above the fighting and Aziraphale urged his horse forward, heart in his throat, swaying the battle around him so he could get through.

"Crowley!" He cried, leaping off the horse and nearly stumbling, as he collapsed to his knees next to Henri who was sitting there, just staring blankly at the demon.

"He…he just…" Henri stuttered. Aziraphale set a kind hand on his shoulder before he turned to Crowley.

"Crowley, please don't tell me…" he pleaded, swallowing hard, and reaching out to grip his arm gently, rolling him onto his back.

Crowley was shuddering, and before Aziraphale could even check his wound, he was looking around. "He-Henri?"

"I'm here," the boy cried. "I'm here, you saved me, you…"

Crowley doubled over with a moan and choked on something. He turned his head aside, but Aziraphale had already seen the red spatters decorating his lips. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach but…surely, Crowley could heal himself from this, right? It was just a normal wound, nothing a demon shouldn't be able to handle…

"Easy, I'm just going to check the wound," he said.

"Angel?" Crowley whispered, blinking up at him. He'd lost his spectacles somewhere in the fall and his eyes were pale and sickly yellow with pain.

"I'm here," Aziraphale promised. "Just relax." He reached for the thick leather tabard Crowley was wearing, and started to undo the ties, peeling it away from the wound.

Crowley cried out and Henri clutched his hand. Aziraphale had been hoping it wasn't that bad because the spear hadn't stuck into him, but once he saw the damage underneath, he thought that might have been a more merciful outcome.

Only the spearhead had gotten through the thick layers, but the impact of the blow, coupled with the wound, had broken several ribs, giving Crowley's side a misshapen look. Obviously, a couple of them had pierced his lung, because Crowley was wheezing and still coughing up blood. Not to mention the copious amount or scarlet that was pouring from the wound itself.

Aziraphale sat back, feeling a weary certainty fall over him. This wound would easily kill a human in a very long and unpleasant way. The difference was, he could heal a human; a demon however…

"Is it bad? Will he be all right?" Henri was asking.

Aziraphale bit his lip, but forced a somewhat reassuring face for the boy. "We need to get him back to camp. Can you help me get him on the horse?"

Henri nodded and together they heaved Crowley into the saddle and Aziraphale got up behind him to hold onto him as Henri led the horse back toward the camp.

They brought Crowley as carefully as possible into Aziraphale's tent, and laid him on the small cot. Crowley was coughing up more blood by now though, wheezing and fighting for breath. The movement hadn't done him any favors.

Aziraphale tried to calm him down as he turned to Henri. "Go see if you can find the medic."

Henri ran off as Aziraphale turned back to Crowley. The wound was still bleeding, worse than he had thought actually, soaking through the shirt he was wearing under the armor.

"Easy," he murmured as Crowley cried out upon his inspection of the wound. Aziraphale quickly grabbed a stray shirt from his own bag, and used it to press against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Angel…" Crowley gasped, choking again.

"Shh," Aziraphale almost pleaded. "Please try not to talk."

Henri came back in, eyes desperate. "I can't find the medic, I think he's on the field!"

"It's fine, I'll deal with this myself," Aziraphale told him, though hated the idea.

"You're a medic too?" the boy asked in surprise.

"I know a few things," Aziraphale said. "Please, light some candles in here for more light."

Henri went over to Aziraphale's small writing desk and attempted to light candles with shaking hands. When he was done, Aziraphale called him back.

"Help me get his armor off."

Together they struggled to pull off the heavy tabard, and Crowley cried out in distress from the jostling and choked up some more blood, fighting to catch his breath. Aziraphale was sure he couldn't breathe very well with his punctured lung.

But right now, he had to stop the bleeding. And seeing the size of the wound, he could think of only one way to do that, and neither he nor Crowley were bound to like it very much.

Aziraphale reached over to his desk and took up his penknife, starting to move it over the flames of the candles.

Henri watched him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

"We have to close the wound, stop the bleeding," Aziraphale said firmly, not thinking too much about what he was going to have to do.

Crowley shifted and moaned, tilting his head back on the bolster in pain. Aziraphale bit his lip and watched as the knife heated to a red glow, and then turned back to the cot and pushed Crowley's shirt aside, revealing the wound, blood still flowing from it.

He took a deep breath. "Henri, please hold him down."

The boy looked terrified, but he did, and Aziraphale swiftly reached down, holding Crowley's wound together before he could think any more about what he was doing, and setting the hot knife against it.

Crowley bucked and howled, forcing Aziraphale to have to help Henri hold him down.

"Crowley, please," Aziraphale pleaded, trying to keep him from opening the freshly closed wound, but blood was already seeping through the shiny burns again. Crowley coughed and brought up even more blood. Aziraphale hushed him as best he could, pressing the shirt against his wound to stop the rest of the bleeding.

"I have some bandages in that bag," Aziraphale told Henri.

The boy fetched them and helped Aziraphale wrap Crowley's torso. When he finally settled Crowley back down, the demon was limp and white, looking nothing like the wily serpent Aziraphale had come to know. He almost couldn't believe they were the same person. He'd never thought something like this would happen.

"Henri, please go fetch some water," he said.

The boy looked a bit hesitant to leave, but he did get up obediently and ducked out of the tent.

Crowley coughed weakly and more blood spattered on his chin, which Aziraphale gently wiped off as the demon wheezed.

"A-angel," he rasped, scrabbling weakly at Aziraphale's arm. "Hurts…hurts so much," he whimpered.

Aziraphale felt his heart breaking, as he grasped the demon's hand. "I'm so sorry, Crowley. I am. But you were very brave. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Crowley's back arched and his body seized with pain. "I…please, just let me go."

Aziraphale didn't understand at first, but the look in Crowley's eyes when he finally opened them made him understand. He balked.

"Crowley…"

"I'll be back," he promised, trying to force a smile past bloodless lips. "You know that. Just discorperate. Get a new body—paperwork's the worst part." He coughed again and curled into Aziraphale.

The angel was for some reason furious at this idea of Crowley giving up. Desperate, even. Had he really become that attached?

"No, absolutely not," he said firmly. "You can _fight_ , Crowley. Please, just…" he bit his lip, then pushed on. "Fight for me. For Henri."

"Angel…"

"Please!" Aziraphale cried, ashamed at himself, but really, what could he do? He hated to admit it, but the demon was growing on him, becoming a, dare he say it, a friend.

Crowley closed his eyes tiredly but didn't protest again, perhaps too weary to do so.

Henri came back with a bucket and Aziraphale took it and a cloth, heating the water via miracle as he washed the blood from Crowley's skin and face, quiet and pensive as Henri sat back, watching with obvious distress.

It was not an easy night. Crowley only got worse and worse, his breathing coming only as short labored gasps that always brought moans of pain, wheezing in his chest. His lungs were obviously wet with blood and Aziraphale couldn't even seem to stop the bleeding from his side anymore.

Henri had fallen asleep against him and Aziraphale looked down at the boy sadly.

A pained wheeze from Crowley. "'ngel."

Aziraphale was alert in an instant despite barely being able to hear Crowley's call, settling the boy down gently with a blanket and moving over to the cot again, taking Crowley's cold hand to press in his warm, plump one.

"A-a'ngel," Crowley whispered again before coughing, blood bubbling from the side of his mouth.

Aziraphale wiped it away with a pain in his chest. "Easy." He rubbed Crowley's chest gently to try and soothe him.

Crowley shook his head, blinking his dull eyes. "I can't do this," he whispered. "Please. Just… let me go."

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered back, his throat closing.

"It's okay," Crowley said, holding back another punishing cough. "It's okay. I'll be back. Promise."

He started coughing again and Aziraphale took him into his arms, cradling the demon gently as he seized, gasping for breath his lungs couldn't take.

Aziraphale sniffed and blinked, his eyes suddenly wet. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's okay, Crowley."

The demon sighed and seemed to relax a bit then, burrowing deeper into Aziraphale's arms. His eyes opened and he glanced up at Aziraphale, a small smile decorating his thin lips before his eyes slid shut again, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

Aziraphale rocked him gently, and lowered his head, his own tears falling as he felt Crowley's body sink against him and then still completely.

He knew when it was officially over, because Crowley's body started to fade away into intangible ash, returning to Hell as if he had never been there in the first place.

Aziraphale trusted him, he knew that Crowley would be back, even if it took a while, and yet, he still sobbed, his tears falling into his hands that no longer held the demon, because he couldn't save his friend and it still hurt.

_~~~~~~~_

_The faraway memories_ still managed to carve a hole in his chest, and Aziraphale suddenly found it hard to swallow the last mouthful of cider. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he had counted the days since the last time he had seen Crowley. It had nearly been two centuries. He didn't know if the demon still hadn't gotten a new body, or if he had and he just hadn't bothered to seek out the angel.

He'd tried to forget, he really had, and yet every year, when it was time for the apple harvest, he had found himself in the French countryside, like he had all those years ago, and he always sought out the apple tart and cider, in memory of Crowley, and as a way to remember him as he was, not like the broken body he'd held and shed tears over in the tiny dark tent as Crowley's life, his essence, slipped away from him.

But, he realized with a sigh as he put the fork down on the empty plate, even an apple tart, as good as it was, could not replace a lost friend.

Aziraphale stood and went to the bar where the motherly woman was washing up. He pulled out his purse and took out several coins.

"Thank you, madam, I think I will be taking my leave after all," he said.

She looked up at him. "Oh, but sir, someone has already paid for your food."

Aziraphale frowned, taken aback. "Really? Who?"

"That gentleman back there," the woman said.

Aziraphale turned to look and stopped in his tracks, suddenly unable to focus on anything else in the tavern but that point.

In the corner of the room lounged a thin man with long red locks, and dark spectacles concealing his eyes. Aziraphale's breath seized in his throat. He had the sudden, admittedly ridiculous, urge to simply run over and embrace the demon, but instead he was able to control himself enough to walk over and sit down at the other side of the small table.

"Fancy meeting you here," was all he said, smiling in a way that told all the things he couldn't say.

Crowley lowered his glasses so Aziraphale could see his golden eyes and grinned back.


End file.
